I Know the Feeling, Mate
by IndigoTardisTurtle
Summary: Merlin's a warlock who is easy to love - too easy.  So many people are head over heels in love with the undercover sorcerer that some of them are bound to meet in a bar accidentally... Or, Gilly, meet Gwaine.   Kind of a parody.  Very short ficlet :P


Gilli stumbled through the worn wooden doorway into the tavern, soaked and cold to the bone. The loud, raucous sound of happy drinkers inside weren't much quieter then the pouring rain outside, but the warmth and light, cast from the fireplace in the back and candles sputtering on the walls, was most definitely welcome.

He shook his hair out, rubbing it a bit, then strode to the bar in the back. "One tankard of ale, please," he said, placing a few copper coins onto the table. "And, um, you wouldn't happen to have a dry towel, would you?" He held out an extra. The first time he'd entered a tavern, he didn't even know how to order properly, let alone haggle. He'd learned since then – and a lot of other things, too.

"'Course, love, you look pitiful." The bartender, a welcoming brunette whose face was coated in paints, swiped the coins from the surface and bustled off to collect his tankard and towel.

Gilli sat himself down on a tall bar stool. He leaned his elbows on the counter, rubbing his face. He'd been thinking a lot about what Merlin had told him, these recent months. He thought about those last few days, those terrible days at the tournament where he'd been a killing machine, so close to the brink of corruption. But then Merlin had arrived. Merlin clasped his shoulders with strong, knowing hands and guided him back from the brink, back into the land of light. Merlin, who was wise and strong and powerful -

"Hey, mate, what's eating you?"

Gilli stopped rubbing his face. He was still doing that? A tiny knot of fear appeared in his chest as he looked to his right, where the voice had come from.

A man sat there, completely at ease. His long hair framed his angular face, only punctuated by a small goatee. He looked all right – the knot in his chest loosened slightly. You never knew who you'd find in taverns (another, painful lesson he'd learned the hard way).

"Ah, nothing," he said, nodding at the bartender and taking his tankard and cloth. "Just...someone I know."

"What about him?"

Gilli looked sharply at the man, who hurriedly added, "Or her!"

Gilli narrowed his eyes, wondering if he should move to another table.

The man sighed. "Gwaine," he said, extracting his hand from his pocket and holding it out to the boy. "And I don't know that it's a him, or a her, it's just...let's just say I know how you feel."

Gilli warily took the gloved hand. "Gilli," he said quietly. "It is a him."

"Go on," said Gwaine encouragingly. "It'll be nice to hear about someone else's problem's for a change."

Gilli looked at the lukewarm liquid, swishing forlornly in the tin mug in his hand. He downed it in almost one gulp, finding that, really, he needed talk. He would probably never see this Gwaine again anyway, what did it matter?

"He's from Camelot," he said, rubbing the towel vigorously at his hair. "He's smart, nice, wise, and absolutely nothing I will or can ever be."

Gwaine nodded. "Yup. Know the feeling."

"He lives at the castle. His name's..." He sighed. "His name's Merlin. Strange name, I know."

Gwaine quite suddenly stopped nodding.

Gilli looked up at him. Had he said something wrong? "Why, d'you know him?"

Instead of answering his question, Gwaine flagged down the bartender. "One large flagon of ale, and another for my friend here. On the house," he added hurriedly to the boy when Gilli began to refuse.

"What's this for?" he asked as the tankard was plunked down in front of him.

"Let's just say," Gwaine said, lifting the mug and lifting it in a subtle toast to his companion, "that I know _exactly_ how you feel."

Gilli sighed. "You too?"

Gwaine grinned. "Yup."

They downed the mugs together.

**So I literally just finished the Sorcerer's Shadow (3x11) and had to write this down. It's much longer than I thought it would be, of course.**

**Some things I want to make clear:**

**By 'towel' I don't mean modern terrycloth, I just mean any general piece of cloth that can be used to dry things off.**

**I don't know my medieval alcohol jargon, so if I got anything wrong between the flagons and tankards and ales and stuff, just tell me, and I'll probably change it (I might not get around to it, but I'll still appreciate you telling me!)**

**One last thing – I'm not really a fan of Merlin/Gwaine (although I can see how people might like it) and I'm definitely not a Merlin/Gilli fan (does that even exist outside of this ship?), so don't take this little ficlet seriously. Think of it as more of a parody then anything else – there are so many people shipped with Merlin, some of them are bound to meet in a tavern and commiserate over a flagon of ale (especially if one of them is Gwaine :P).**

**Thanks for reading, please review!**

**~IndigoTardisTurtle**


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